


for every beginning there must be an end

by RK7200



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Twins, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Human Experimentation, M/M, Separate Childhoods, Two Byleths, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, fbyleth with sothis and mbyleth with nemesis, nemesis as mbyleth's very bad father figure, nemesis is not a good dude
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RK7200/pseuds/RK7200
Summary: In one world, Byleth was born alone and dying with her mother. In this world, she is born with a brother.It is unfortunate, that she would only meet him again when war is on the horizon.Or:Byleth's journey in bonding with her emotionally constipated brother and Jeralt's journey in caring for his two (2) socially inept children.And Bael's just on a journey to learn what the fuck an actual healthy bond is.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & My Unit | Byleth, nemesis & byleth
Comments: 92
Kudos: 317





	1. there was a girl and a boy

In one world, a child was born with her mother’s love and dying blessings as she begs to a goddess for her daughter’s life. 

In that world, that child would grow up with a crest stone implanted in her heart and a goddess inside her head. With a caring father and a bloody fate awaiting her with a new dawn waiting at the end of her path no matter which fate she chooses. With her destiny carved into fate itself and woven deep into time, destined to have her name be etched into history. 

In that world, Byleth was born. Alone and dying with her mother. 

This is not that world. 

Instead, it begins like this: with identical cries erupting as a mother begs a goddess to save her children. Save them both, the girl and the boy. 

In this world, the crest stone was implanted into the girl’s heart successfully as she breathes. In this world, the boy resists the implant and Rhea holds him close as she let the girl go to her father as she cradles him in her arms. In this world, Rhea lets him stay close to her, watching him with closed eyes in a gesture of regret towards his mother or perhaps something else. 

In this world, Jeralt was departed on a mission as his wife dies and his children live with no heartbeat. In this world, Jeralt arrives back with just the cry of one. In this world, Jeralt set the church and his own life ablaze even before he could place his eyes on his second child. 

Before he even knew he had a second child. 

In this world, one child was taken away as the other fade into the fire as they were taken away by the shadows instead as Rhea roars. 

In this world, Byleth has Sothis and a father. 

In this world, he has Nemesis and a tragedy.

* * *

  
The girl, Byleth, is raised with a father who never knew how to be one but tries for her. She is raised with gentle hands and warmth. She is raised outside with the blue skies and blazing sun. She is raised with the grass underneath her and the birds above her. 

She is raised by a father who loves her and a goddess who lies sleeping. 

The boy, unnamed, is raised with men and women who come and go, that he never knew the name to. He is raised with rough hands and the chill of the night. He is raised within stone walls and stone floors with eight legged creatures lurking and sharp teeth beasts waiting for a bite. He is raised with chains at his neck and his ankles and with needles and scars.

He is raised by the shadows who cares not for him besides his crest.

* * *

  
Byleth rises with the sun as she would yawn. Snuggling up to her father as he laughs and picks her up. Teasing her as she frowns slightly. With mercenaries already yelling outside from another fight or so breaking out. As her father would sigh and they would both set out together. As she would distract herself with the birds and critters of the forest as her father curses at the men for yelling and they would laugh sheepishly.

He rises. Setting himself against the wall as a man, one-eyed and bright-haired, knocks harshly against the door. Yelling something or another that he couldn’t quite understand. Not through the fog of fire that burns against his skin. He does not recognize this man and he will not remember him. As he breathes in the stale air and moves his wrists just to hear the slight sound of chains, the sound distracting him from the bites of small monsters.

* * *

  
Jeralt would teach Byleth how to fight, with blunt words and blunter weapons as he guides her. Lifting her arms up or down and adjusting her stance as she nods. With all the determination of a child and all the energy of one as she would huff as he teases her. Hitting him with her sword as he laughs. 

The woman, with a light shade of hair and eyes, lead him out of the room. His chains scratching roughly against the floor as he moves. He would close his eyes as he lays, prone and relaxed as his world fades into fire once more as a sharp prick enters his arm. He would exhale softly as he frowns at the sharpness of it as something slices across his chest and he fades once more.

* * *

  
Jeralt raised Byleth to become a strong woman, a strong mercenary. Who could lead her own life when she grows up, who could decide her own fate when the time comes, even if he didn’t know it. 

He was raised to be a vessel. One who could harness the power of a man long dead, one who could be revived through him. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

* * *

  
It begins like this:

“You,” the man called, “Subject Ten.”

He looks up as the chain around his neck sounds at the movement.

“The Doctor wants to speak to you,” the man stated as he unlocks his chains from the wall. He shifts his arms as the chains weigh his limbs down. The man, dark-haired, tall, calls him over as he yanked on the collar; closing the gate behind him roughly as soon as he steps out of the room. 

He walks with a slow gait as he limps. His steps are slow and steady as he toddles after the man. Sure to keep his eyes down and his back bowed. Moving the slowest that he can without the man angering.

It continues like so:

He lays down on a familiar table as they shackle him once more. There were more men than usual here, he notes. The Doctor says something to them all, his words hard to understand yet one word stood out starker than any other.

Nemesis. 

He opens his arms as the other men roar and the room shakes with the noise. The Doctor sets a cold hand on his arm and raises his voice once more.

Nemesis, the man says, admist thousands of other words. Nemesis.

The word stays with him as he braces himself for the pain of a needle. The familiar prick as it would pierce his skin. Instead, all he can feel is fire as the world turns red then dark.

* * *

  
The end begins like so: 

He sees a man on a throne of corpses. One with long light hair and familiar lines lining his body. 

“So you’re my vessel,” the man said as he leans down. 

Nemesis, he hears the corpses saying. Nemesis. 

“Good enough,” the man continues, “Even if your heart is branded by _her_.”

Nemesis, the corpses yell. Nemesis. 

“It matters not, I’ll get my revenge on that bitch soon enough.” The man makes a sound, booming and echoing. Somewhat comforting, he thinks. “Man, I can’t wait to see the look on that bitch’s face.” 

Nemesis, he thinks. Nemesis.

“Felled by her own hand, what a joke.” 

“Nemesis,” he said and the man makes the sound again. And something warm blossoms inside his chest. Not like the fire but something else- something better. “Nemesis.” 

“Good boy.” The man leans back on his throne of bones and blood as he rasps. 

He likes that, he thinks. Being called ‘good.’

So he says the man’s name again. And again. As the corpses roar. 

Nemesis.

* * *

  
Fate moves like so:

“Nemesis,” he mumbled as the light enters his eyes once more. Sound erupting around him as he does so. 

It was loud and terrible and he finds himself frowning as they approach him. Their hands were gentler and their faces weren’t frowning anymore. 

He finds that he likes this. Likes the way they look at him now.

He realizes what ‘like’ is, and he discovers that he likes like. 

They unshackle him as he sits up. Feeling fire rush through him as the cold that was etched in his bones fades away. His limbs feeling warm and- and good, he thinks, good, that is the word. 

“Nemesis,” he said, “Nemesis.”

Good boy, he can almost hear. Remind them who I am.

“Nemesis,” he repeated as the Doctor’s lips stretch into something lighter- something _good_ as he looks up at him. 

He realizes that he likes this. Likes _good_. He likes the way they look at him as he chants, “Nemesis.” 

Looking up at him. No longer sneering as their lips stretch like the Doctor’s their faces changing into something _good._

I like good, he thinks once more. I like the way you’re looking at me now. 

His heart thrums with heat.

* * *

  
On a normal day on the guardian moon, Byleth celebrates her birthday under the blaze of the sun.

On a dreary night of the guardian moon, he is granted a name under the light of the moon. 

Bael, they call him. Bael. A demon’s name, they tell him, a great name. A name too grand for a vessel like himself, but Nemesis thinks it fitting so he bows down and accepts it. 

A king, he hears. A lord. The name is heavy and his future even heavier.

On the first of the guardian moon, Bael is born as Byleth celebrates her birth. They breathe in unison as their heart pulses as one.

Her, a vessel for the divine.

Him, a vessel for a heretic.

On the first of the guardian moon, year unknown, their fate begins.


	2. subject fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bael is a learns quickly and meet subject fifteen, a girl with hair the color of dirt.

“This is a sword,” they tell Bael, “Use it.” 

It is a sharp thing, he notes. Sharp and pointy. Like needles but not. Like needles but bigger and more lethal. 

“What for?” Bael asked. His voice raspy like the gravel, it was called gravel, gravel or stone, underneath their feet. 

They grunted as they gesture behind him.

“You’ll learn from him.” With that, the Doctor turns around and leaves. His white shirt (a longer shirt that reaches near the ground, the dirt, brown and dirty, staining its edges) flowing behind him as he leaves. 

Byleth turns around as well, finding a non-des-cript man _(Normal, weak, utterly unfitting for my vessel-)_ looking back at him. 

He raises the thing in his hands, the sword as the man nods. 

“Come.” 

_“Weak and unfitting-”_

Bael finds that he doesn’t like it either, now that Nemesis says it so.

* * *

  
“You swing, like this,” the man instructed as he demonstrates. Moving the sword in an arc as he continued. 

_“Weak, what is he showing you? Bah, useless-”_

“And then you-”

_“Pathetic, how utterly inane this whole thing is-”_

“Stop.” Bael approaches the man with silent steps. “Stop that.” 

The man turns to him, his face pulled together as he sets the sword back to his sides. “Stop what?”

“What you were doing,” Bael repeated. “It’s not good.” 

“Huh?” 

“I don’t like it.” Bael hears the low and familiar laughter ringing in his ears pushing him forward. “Stop it.” 

“First, call me Instructor or Mister,” the man snapped, “second, you have to learn this subject ten.” 

“Bael,” Bael said, “use that.” 

The man shifted in his position as he grunted. His arms tense and his teeth grinding together. 

“You give one of these things a name and they think they’re all that,” the man muttered. And even though Bael does not know what 'they’re all that’ means he doesn’t like it. 

_“He’s insulting you, boy, that’s what the bastard is doing.”_

Bael does not know what an insult is either but-

_“It’s a not good thing, boy. Not good at all.”_

“Don’t say that,” Bael snapped. “It’s not good.” 

“Oh yeah?” the man drawled. “Too bad, huh.”

Bael feels his own face pull together. Feeling his chest turn tight as though he is lacking air as he clenches his hand and the sword. It was a not good feeling and Bael does not like it. Feeling himself lifting his lips as- _(that’s right, bare your teeth, boy-)_ he, he bares his teeth. 

_“Come on, go and defend your honor, boy. Defend out honor.”_

What does it mean to defend my honor? 

_“You fight.”_

Bael does not know what fighting either but it must be good, right?

_“It is good. Very good,”_ Nemesis said roughly. _“Better than sex.”_

Bael does not know what sex is either but it must be good, too. If Nemesis says it so. 

He feels his fists raising as he mimics the man- _(Yes, yes, just like that!)_\- watching as the man tense as he swings the sword in an arc and-

He feels the feeling of pressure as he presses the sword down, watching as it moves through the man’s legs as the man’s pants become darker as the sword moves past it. The man makes a sound that makes something stir inside of him but, _(That’s a good sound boy, that means that you’re doing some right, something _good-_)_, it is a good sound, Bael decided despite the weight that lays in his chest. It is good because Nemesis says it so. 

It doesn’t last long as a rough hand comes to press down on his head, roughly shoving his face down into the dirt- brown and dirty and rough and Bael doesn’t like it- as Bael lets out a small sound, akin to the man earlier. 

“You damn freak,” the man spat as he pushes his weight down on Bael. 

_“So you did lose, after all,”_ Nemesis said._ “How disappointing.”_

Bael does not know what that means but- but it must be not good.

_“It is not good at all.”_ Bael finds himself not liking this feeling, of dis-appoint-in Nemesis. _“It is not good at all, boy, not good enough to be my vessel.”_

Bael’s eyes burn for reasons unknown and his chest feels tight.

* * *

  
“What did you do to him,” the Doctor asked, not happy. “His face- is he bleeding?” 

“Sir, he attacked m-” 

“I do not care!” the Doctor’s voice rises, sur-ging and loud. “I do not care if he chopped off your damn arm or killed your mother- you do _not_ harm him!” 

“But sir-” 

“But nothing!” Rising and sur-ging. Rising and sur-ging. “What if something were to happen to him. Are you going to take responsibility for his death or serious injury?” 

“I-” 

“If you fuck up it falls on me you fool!” Loud, Bael learns. This is loud. “If that happens- then forget about seeing your family again-” 

Family, that word makes the man pales and Bael wonders what type of needle it is to make the man so scared. 

“Sir-” 

“I’m lenient enough with not killing you right now for disregarding my orders,” the Doctor continued. “And if I didn’t have another choice you’d be dead-” 

Kil-ing, Bael repeats inside his head. Kil-ing. What does that mean?

_“Something good. Something amazing. Even better than fighting”_

It must be good then, Bael thinks. Very good if it is amaze-ing and better than fighting. 

“So let this be my warning to you,” the Doctor snapped. “Or so help me- even if I can’t kill you I’ll make sure your family will pay the price.”

“Sir.” The man nods. The Doctor laying a rough hand on Bael’s head as a fire- warm and not burning- spreads through Bael’s body. 

“Now, go, Bael,” the Doctor said as his lips lifted up. “He won’t hurt you.”

He touches his face to find that it wasn’t in pain anymore. “Right?” 

Bael turns to the man, with his sour face and red eyes as he nods. 

“Yes, sir.” 

_“See there, that’s a lie, boy. He’s lying to ya.”_ Lie, a lie is a bad, bad thing, Bael learns. _“He’ll hurt you for sure, in fact, everyone will hurt you.”_

Hurt, Bael also learns. Causes pain. And Bael does not like pain and he does not like lies either. 

_“So, to not be hurt, listen to me very carefully from now on, boy, and you will never be hurt again.”_

Bael nods as he trails after the man. 

No pain, that is a good thing. A very, very good thing. 

An amaze-ing thing.

* * *

  
_“First you must learn from this man,”_ Nemesis said._ “Learn everything you can and learn it quickly.”_

Bael pauses. 

_ “Look at him and mirror his movements, do everything that he does,”_ Nemesis explained, pa-tent-ly._“Copy him and learn everything he has to offer.”_

Why can’t I learn from you instead? Bael wondered. You said he was useless and weak so why-

_“Do not question me, boy,”_ Nemesis snapped. Loud and sur-ging._ “Never doubt me.”_

Bael does not like it when Nemesis raises his voice and he does not like it because Nemesis is ang-er-y and an ang-er-y Nemesis is a not good Nemesis. Because an ang-er-y Nemesis makes his eyes burn and his chest tight and Bael does not like that either. 

_“I’ll answer you this once, boy, so listen carefully,”_ Nemesis said. _“You learn from him because you are weak.”_

Weak, Bael learns. Is not good. Is very, very not good. _(Pathetic, terrible-)_

_“Yes, it is very, very not good, boy. It is a bad thing.”_ A grumble. _“A bad, bad thing. The opposite of good.”_

Bad, Bael repeated the word. He doesn’t like that word. 

_“So learn from him, and quick, boy.”_ Another grumble._ “Lest you become even weaker than you are now and disappoint me even further.”_

Bael does not want to dis-app-oint Nemesis and so he nods, lowering his head as he watches the man and the way his sword moves through the air. 

_“Good boy.”_

* * *

  
Bael learns, after that. Learns and learns as cuts lines his arms and fingers. Lines it more with a bright, bright color (Red, red, Nemesis told him. A good color). He learns how to swing his sword, how to move his arms and legs. How to coordinate his body to match. He learns and learns and he learns quickly, because, for all that Bael does not care about the sword, he cares about not being weak. 

Not good enough, Nemesis would say. Nowhere good enough. And Bael would throw himself into his training harder. As the man becomes more vicious with each passing day as the Doctor leaves for a distant trip. 

The man, no longer caring as Bael does not go to the Doctor, fights harder. As the man fights with harsh strikes and bad words. As the man lines Bael’s arms with more cuts and his legs with more stabs. As he says “freak” and “monster” with each strike. As he laughs as Bael hurt. As he punches and kicks and stabs and skewer. 

It matters not as Bael continues to fight. Letting the man say whatever he wants, even if the man says “Subject Ten” and “Freak” and never “Bael.” Even if the man causes him pain and even if it is not good. Bael fights and fights. He bows his head and calls the man “Mister” even if he doesn’t like it. Because Bael needs to learn. 

Bael needs to learn and quick. So that he won’t be weak and bad-

Not good enough, Nemesis would say. And Bael would learn even harder would throw himself onto the man’s blades as he would train as he would will himself to becoming stronger just through this alone. Just through his wishes alone. 

Swords and blades soon became his life. As he would dream of Nemesis and his throne of corpses as he would dream of swords and other weapons. As Nemesis’ roar sounds in his dreams and blood seeps through the image. Bael would bring his sword to sleep with him. Hoping that in those few scant hours he could learn enough from his dreams that he would no longer be weak. That he would be able to learn from Nemesis and become good. 

That day comes one day. Where Bael throws himself into training. His steps quicker than the man’s and his stride faster and strikes are good (vicious, brutal, what you must be-). He tries to copy Nemesis to channel the man as he fights. As he swings with a reach too long for his short arms and fights with the muscles of a man when he is a mere child. 

Then, his blade struck something on the man. As his blade pierces through the man’s chest. As the man shouts something- like “Wait.” or “Stop.” 

Bael wants to pull the blade out as it bleeds red. It makes him feel something not good as the red spreads. (Beautiful, Nemesis says. And Bael repeats it.) 

But Nemesis said, _“Continue.”_

And so he does as he presses the blade through and through. Harder and harder as the man’s hand reaches up and Bael’s other hand comes to push his head down _(Yes, just like that, boy, just like what he did to you- to us- in the past. Show him-). Down into the dirt, brown and dirty. _

Continue. 

Through and through. As the red spreads.

The red wasn’t beautiful-

Continue.

This doesn’t feel good-

Harder and harder, don’t let him lift his head-

Continue. 

The man’s breaths stop. 

_ “Isn’t that just the best?”_ Nemesis makes a sound, laf-ter, it was laf-ter._ “Doesn’t it feel good. To not be so weak anymore?”_

Bael thinks the laf-ter is a good thing. But this- this-

It doesn’t feel good, Bael thinks. It doesn’t feel much like anything. 

_ “You don’t understand the beauty of it yet, boy,”_ Nemesis said, pa-tent-ly._ “But you will, because you are my vessel, after all.”_

The man below him lays still.

Dead, the man is dead, Bael learns. _(If they’re dead they can’t cause pain-)_

Bael doesn’t know why death is beautiful, but he will learn, for Nemesis. 

And Bael is a quick learner, he has to be.

* * *

  
The Doctor, learning of the man’s death only said, “Well, he was only there because he was the only teacher, but since you don’t need him anymore, it doesn’t matter.”

The Doctor pierces his skin once more with a needle. “It’s nigh time you be put on missions anyways. Now that you’re _his_ vessel.”

Bael stands as the Doctor covers his wounds. “Do well, won’t you?”

_“You must do nothing less.”_

Bael nods.

* * *

  
‘Missions,’ Bael learns. Are just prolonged fights where Bael just needs to kill and nothing more. 

It is an easy thing, that, to kill. 

But it still feels not good, still feels bad, to kill, and Bael knows that he just needs more missions. That he just needs time to learn. 

“Spare me-” 

A bit more time.

* * *

  
“Goddess save me-”

A bit more time-

* * *

  
“Please, why?” 

A bit more time-

* * *

  
The man looks up at him, a common man, an average and weak one. 

Pa-te-thic, Bael thinks. Utterly pa-te-thic.

“Y- you’re just a kid-” 

Bael does not feel anything.

But this no longer feels not good anymore. 

Bael is a quick learner. And as Nemesis says, _“Good boy.”_ Bael thinks that this is good. That killing is good if Nemesis says it is. 

Bael is a quick learner and as he kills the man’s wife he smiles. _(Yes, yes, exactly like so-)_

It is a not good smile, but Bael will learn.

* * *

  
The next time he arrives in the Doctor’s room there is a girl there before him. Her hair is brown. Like the dirt, but lighter and cleaner. 

“Bael,” the Doctor greeted. “You’re back.” 

Bael nods, eyes focusing on the girl instead as she stares back. Her eyes was a color he’d never seen before, but it was good, he thinks. A good color. 

“How was the mission?” The Doctor asked. “Did you succeed?” 

“Target dead,” Bael answered softly.

“Good, good,” the Doctor said. “Your records are phenomenal my boy!” 

“He’s- he’s just a kid, you monsters!” the girl yells from the silver table. Chains around her neck and limbs. 

“This,” The Doctor introduced. “Is Subject Fifteen.”

“I’m not!” the girl yelled. Voice loud and harsh. “My name is-!” 

“She’s not used to her name yet, you see.” the Doctor combs through her hair. “But she will be.” 

“Subject Fifteen,” Bael repeated. “Fifteen.”

“Five subjects down from you, my boy,” the Doctor explained. Bael nods as he studies her. 

He hopes she doesn’t turn out to be a not good subject. 

“Her and her siblings make up ten subjects in total, what a grand donation from the emperor himself!” The Doctor laughs. 

“My father didn’t-” The Doctor shushes her. 

“All in the past now, Subject Fifteen.” The Doctor sets her arm still. “And you wouldn’t want to agitate dear Bael here. He hates loud noises, you see.” 

“Not good,” Bael agreed.

“I’m not!” the girl yelled and Bael frowns. “My name is Elena von Hresvelg and I-”

“You are Subject Fifteen here, girl, be sure to not mistake your status.” 

Bael leaves, not wanting to hear the girl scream. 

Subject Fifteen. 

Bael shakes his head softly but her name still rang inside his heads. 

Elena von Hresvelg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elena is one of Edelgard's siblings and we'll be seeing more of her with the next few updates so I hope you'll enjoy her! As can be seen, Nemesis is the father figure here but he ain't too good of a father figure lmao and Bael is slowly going to devolve from here. I really do enjoy writing terrible enable nemesis and the enabled bael haha. 
> 
> I also decided on the pairing haha. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed this update and please leave a kudo and comment on what you liked, what you didn't like, and your analysis, just anything, really, to make me super happy!


	3. a lesson in despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> subject fifteen is odd and bael does not know how to act around her. 
> 
> nemesis wants to teach his vessel an important lesson.

Subject Fifteen is put in the room next to his. He can see her through the little cracks that were between them. See her dirt (brown, the color is brown) hair through the metal bars. Hear the chains holding her to the wall as she struggles. See her eyes. Bright and good, and how they shine with- with _something_.

“Stop that,” Bael said, leaning against his own room. “Loud.” 

“Huh?” The girl spins to him. Fast, Bael notes. “You-” 

He shushes her. Expelling air through his lips like how Nemesis had taught him. A sound that was not quite like the wind but not like the sound of chains scraping against the floor either. It was somewhere in between, Bael decided. ‘Make them listen to ya,’ Nemesis had said. ‘Make them be quiet.’ 

“You- you’re that kid, from earlier!” she ex-claimed. Her voice rising as she moves closer to him. To the bars that separate them. The chains gave a har-sh sound. A bad sound. 

“Stop,” he told her again. “Don’t.” 

The chain rat-les once more. He frowns. “Listen.” 

He points to the chains and then to her. “Keep still.” 

She frowns back. Something in her face as she shakes her arms once more. Letting the chains shake and making him frown even more. “Stop.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why should I?” 

Bael couldn’t think of what to say for a moment. A split moment as his mind empties. As he tries to grabs for words that didn’t exist. Then, as always Nemesis came to his aid. 

_“You answer her, boy-”_

“Because it’s bad,” he answered, clear and simple. Repeating what Nemesis said. “It’s loud.” 

“B- but I want it to be loud!” the girl argued. Stub-orn, Bael thinks. Stub-orn. 

_“That’s bad, boy. That’s a bad trait indeed.”_

“You don’t,” Bael said firmly. “You don’t want that.” 

“Huh?” That sound again. High and light. With her eyes growing bigger and her arms growing still. 

“That’s bad,” Bael continued. “And you don’t want bad.” 

The girl gives him another sound (_Snorting. She’s snorting at you, boy. She’s insulting-_) as she turns around, crossing her arms. Her face is ang-er-y, he thinks. Something like the Doctor when things weren’t good. “What’s going to happen, then. If I’m bad.” 

Bael pauses for a moment. Just a moment. 

“Not good things happen,” he answered simply. Recalling the very bad, no good things. “It’ll hurt.” 

The girl’s face turned white, like the bodies of the men and women who were ran through by his blade and never woke up again. “Oh.”

_“That’s a good look on her.”_ Nemesis laughs. Good and ple-sant.

She doesn’t look ‘good’ to Bael. But he supposes that this is another thing he must learn.

* * *

  
“Subject Ten,” the man, light (blond, it is blond) haired and blue eyes called. “The Doctor is calling for you.” 

Bael can hear the slight rustle of chains from the other cell as Subject Fifteen turns towards the noise. Her eyes still wide and her arms drawn around herself. 

_“That’s a weak posture, boy. Make you look like prey-”_

Bael nods. Standing up as he trails behind the man. 

Prey was bad. 

He should tell her to fix that later. 

_“Bah, don’t concern yourself with weak things like that. They’ll only end up letting you down”_

Bael frowns. Remembering the way the girl had shivered and tremble. 

_“Do whatever you wish, you’ll learn soon enough, anyways.”_

Bael did not know what he’ll learn. But learning was always a good thing. 

So Bael’ll learn this as well.

* * *

  
It was another ‘check-up,’ for Bael and the Doctor. As the man takes Bael’s blood from him, with thin needles and sooth (_cooing, bah, pathetic-_) sounds. 

“Stop that,” Bael said as the Doctor pats his shoulder with something soft. “It’s pa-the-tic.” 

The Doctor laughs. “I’ve been working with bad, loud kids for so long, it’s a habit by now.” 

Bael shrugs. “Just stop it.”

“Of course, Bael,” the Doctor said smoothly. “Just for you.”

* * *

  
“Is that your name?” Subject Fifteen asked. Arms still drawn around herself and trembling slightly. Whether that be the cold or fear, Bael does not know. _(Either way is pathetic. Either way shows that she is weak-)_ “Subject Ten?” 

“Bael,” Bael replied. “My name is Bael.” 

Subject Fifteen shifts, pushing herself up as she leans against the stone walls of her cell. Heads supported by the steady wall but her figure still trembling. _(Weak-)_ “You have a name?” 

Bael nods.

“Was that your birth name?” she asked. Voice soft and also trembling. _(Like the prey that she is-)_

“Birth name?” Bael frowns for a moment, thinking. “What is that?” 

The girl opens her eyes. An odd color. _(Purple, they’re purple.)_ “You don’t know your birth name?” 

Bael shakes his head. 

“D- do you remember your life before this?” subject Fifteen raises her arms. Moving the chains once more. Loud and bad. “Before all of this?” 

Bael frowns. “I don’t understand.” 

“Do you remember your parents?” subject Fifteen asked. Her voice strange and loud. Loud and bad. 

Parents, what was that? Was that something from the outside? Was that something good?

_“Parents, bah, think not of it, boy.”_ Nemesis sno-rted._ “Those are things for the weak.”_

Parents were not good, then. Bael decided. Since they were for the weak and Bael would be anything but weak. 

“No,” Bael answered simply. 

“What?” Subject Fifteen’s voice is loud. Loud and- and _(Shrill, like a shrew-)_ shrill. Loud and bad. 

“Be quiet,” Bael said. “Loud.” 

“But how can you not remember-”

“Parents are bad,” Bael said. “No need.” 

“What? How-”

“Bad,” Bael repeated. Wondering when it’ll get through to her. “Parents are bad things.” 

“You-” 

“Bad,” Bael hissed. A final wa-rn-ing. “Stop.” 

Subject Fifteen finally stops. And as though her spine had broken, she droops. Leaning against the wall once more as she lets out a heavy sound. “I see.” 

Subject Fifteen is still trembling. Weak and bad. 

“D- do I have a name?” she asked when he was about to remind her to stop. 

“You are Subject Fifteen,” he spoke. “That is your name.” 

“But you are Bael,” she repeated. Eyes lost and wide. “Do I not have a name?” 

He shakes his head. “You are Subject fifteen.” 

“But why?” 

“Because,” he answered simply. “You are not spe-sial.” 

The girl lets out a sound. Like the rattling of chains and nails scraping on the walls. 

_“She’s laughing, boy,”_ Nemesis said._ “A good laugh, for the weak.”_

Bael does not know that laf-ter can sound like such. 

_ “Like I said, boy. That’s laughter for the weak. Bad and pathetic.”_

But how can it be good, then? Bael wondered. When it was bad and pathetic. 

_“It is only good when you are listening, boy. This you’ll learn.”_

The laf-ter wasn’t good. Not to Bael.

But he’ll learn.

* * *

  
They take Subject Fifteen away one day. Leading her by her chains as she walks behind them. Her spine curled and her hair falling in front of her face as she steps, one foot before another. 

When she returned, there was blood on her neck and more on her lips. 

She groans as she was pushed into her cell. Tumbling forward as she falls. Her knees landing hard on the hard floor and her hands bracing her weight. 

She collapses down to her stomach. Breathing in and out roughly. As though she wanted to scream but couldn’t. Like there was something stuck in her throat that refuses to leave. Like pain that could only be bottled and never heard. 

An uncomfortable feeling in his chest. 

Was he ill?

“It’s fine,” he hears himself saying. “It’ll hurt less next time.” 

He does not know whether she heard him or not.

* * *

  
It was night. This Bael would know, from the way that the cell turns dark and only a singular bright light remains from the barred window at the top of his cell. 

“Bael,” spoken softly and raspily. He turns. Finding himself matching with pur-ple eyes. “It hurts.”

Bael nods. 

“It hurts.” 

He nods again. 

“Will it hurt less, next time?” 

He pauses. Watching the way her figure trembles in the night and the way she draws herself closer to the corner of her cell. The way blood still trickles through the thin bandage that covers her neck. They way that crimson blood smears near her lips. 

_“Sympathy for prey now. Ha, well, it matters not. Go onward, boy, I’ll let you learn your lesson.”_

“It will,” he answered. Finding that his chest was lighter as she smiles. 

That is good.

* * *

  
Bael is taken on a mission for a few days after that. Another hunting mission. An easy one, just another man and his family. Their screams echoed in his ears as he runs through them with his blade. 

_More, more-_

He stabs through the man’s hands. 

_No, don’t hurt the man first-_

He turns to the woman.

_Nice one, boy. But no-_

He turns to the child. Wide-eyed and slightly larger than him. Tied by rough ropes as wet liquid pools down his cheek.s

_That’s the one, boy. Give that one hell, first._

For reasons unknown, Bael’s hands tremble as he raises his knife. 

_Make him squeal-_

He stabs through the boy’s arms. 

_Make it hurt, make it last-_

He hears the boy scream. Loud and bad.

He hears the man and woman scream even louder.

_See? See how much you can hurt?_

He doesn’t understand why they would scream when he hadn’t laid a blade on them. 

He doesn’t understand why the woman cries and the man begs him to take his life instead. 

He doesn’t understand what a ‘son’ is and why they were crying for that. 

Another slash. Another stab. 

The boy screams. 

The man and woman scream even louder. 

_Kill the boy first, kill him-_

He does. 

He turns around to face the man and woman and-

_See that? That’s despair, boy._

Bael blinks. Something cold and heavy in his chest. 

_That’s the most beautiful expression of all._

Bael doesn’t understand how. 

But he’ll learn. 

_Now, kill the one who looks the most broken._

He kills the man and the woman screams. 

Loud and bad. 

No-

Loud and beautiful. 

It must be beautiful. 

For Nemesis said it so.

* * *

  
Bael returns to his cell. Blood still sticking to his hair and skin. A good thing, Nemesis said. A reminder to everyone of your power. 

“Bael?” Subject Fifteen called. “W- what happened to you?” 

“Mission,” Bael answered shortly. Leaning against his spot once more. Underneath the barred window and hidden from the light. 

“Are you hurt?” the girl asked. Her eyes moving up and down his body for reasons unknown. “Oh dear goddess, you’re so bloody-” 

“The blood isn’t mine,” he said. Simple and clear. 

“What?” The sound of chains moving. Yanking. “You mean-”

“They were my targets’,” Bael answered. Still leaning against the wall. Still and silent. Hearing the screams of them inside his ears. Ringing and _good._ Because Bael is a quick learner. He has to be. 

“Oh.” She exhaled roughly. Loudly. “Oh.” 

A moment of brief silence as neither of them spoke. 

“How old are you?” She breaks the silence once more. 

“What is old?” he asked. Mind running once more at the new world. 

“Y- you don’t know your age?” she asked, loud and bad. Bael shakes his head. “N- no. Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t even know your own-” 

“Loud,” Bael reminded. “Stop.” 

“Right,” the girl lets her arms drop once more. Her eyes were dark as she focuses on him. 

As she focuses on the blood that was smeared on his hair. 

“It just means how long you’ve lived,” she said. 

“Oh,” Bael replied. So it didn’t matter then. 

“You don’t have a birthday, do you,” she said. Sounding like a question but spoken like a statement. Odd. 

“What is a birthday?” he asked. Nemesis silent inside his head. Only making odd humming noises here and now. 

The girl smiles. 

It wasn’t a good smile.

“It’s the day you were born,” the girl said. Her voice somehow heavy and weighed down. As though a blade was pressed to her neck. “Though you wouldn’t know that either, would you.” 

Bael nods. Turning away from her. The girl who was no longer trembling, who was looking at him with odd eyes and heavy shoulders. 

“Let’s make today your birthday, then,” the girl said. Simple and clear. 

“What?”

She moves her arm. Looking at the wall behind her for a moment before bringing her chains down causing a scratch to form on the surface. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“Marking this as your birthday,” the girl answered, her fingers on the mark. “I’ll make this everyday, until there are three hundred sixty-five of these.”

“What?” They were numbers, that he knows. But he does not know what they are for. 

“When that day comes, you’ll be a year older,” the girl answered. Smiling at him. Something sm-ug about her. 

Bael shrugs. “Do what you want.” 

As long as she didn’t make too much sound, he doesn’t care. 

Nemesis laughs.

Nemesis laughs and laughs, for: 

One the night of the first of the guardian moon. One Elena von Hresvelg wished one Bael, no last name, a happy birthday. Just as one Jeralt Eisner and his band of mercenaries wished his daughter, Byleth Eisner, hers. 

_“Ah, fate. What a bitch you are.”_

* * *

  
The next day, Subject Fifteen once again creates another mark. 

“Loud,” Bael said. 

“I’ll be less rough next time,” Subject Fifteen answered. 

“Good.” 

She smiles. 

“How was your day?”

“Good.” 

She smiles.

* * *

  
Another mark.

“Loud.”

“Sorry, sorry!”

“Don’t do it again, or-”

“Or, I’ll be bad.” A small giggle. “I got it, Bael.” 

Bael did not know why but it felt as though he is being insulted.

* * *

  
Another mark. “Up to ten, now,” the girl said. 

“How much is ten?” he asked. 

“Can you not count?” 

“What is counting?” 

“Oh, goddess-”

* * *

  
Another mark. “What’s that number, Bael?” 

He huffs although he squints at the wall all the same. “Twelve.” 

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head and Bael knew that he was bad. 

“It is thirteen, Bael,” she said. 

“I did bad,” Bael said, frowning. “Again.” 

She smiles. “You did alright, Bael. You have just started learning and-”

“Again,” Bael repeated, frowning. 

He must be a quick learner. Even when it comes to things like this. 

He must be, he must.

* * *

  
Another mark, “What’s that number, Bael?”

He focuses, searching his mind as he counts slowly. “Fifteen.” 

She smiles. “That’s right, fifteen.” 

Bael nods. His lips quirked up slightly.

“Are you happy?” 

“No.” 

She smiles. “You know, fifteen is also-”

“Your number, I know.”

* * *

  
Another mark. “Twenty.” 

“Ah, now you’re getting it!” 

“Don’t.” He turns away from her. Leaning his head against the wall. “Loud.” 

She smiles. “You remind me of Edelgard so much sometimes…” 

He frowns, running the name through his head but finding nothing. 

“My sister,” she said before turning silent. Turning away from him as she draws her arms around her once more. “Turn away, now, Bael. I don't want you to see me like this.” 

Tears, he realizes. She was crying _(Weak, pathetic. The strong don’t cry-)_

He gritted his teeth and turn around.

* * *

  
She wasn’t there to mark the wall that day. 

“It hurts, Bael,” she said when she returned. Her neck bleeding and her lips stained with red. “It hurts.” 

“Better next time,” he said. 

She smiles at him. Weakly. Weak. 

It is a bad smile. 

Bael does not know why his chest weighs down like so. 

“Don’t do that,” Bael said. 

“What?” 

“Don’t smile like that.” Bael pauses for a moment. “It’s bad.” 

“Sorry, I don’t want you to see me cry,” she said. Simple and clear. “After all, if I’m so weak, who are you going to look up to?” 

Nemesis laughs. Mo-ck-ing and bad.

And for the first time, Bael does not like his laughter.

She draws another mark. “Now, tell me, what’s this number?” 

“Thirty.” 

“Good job.” 

He likes that, he thinks. The way she said good.

* * *

  
Another mission. Another day. Another man to kill. No woman nor child, this time. 

It is easier. But not better.

Nemesis is not pleased. 

Bael killed two more random civilians. 

Nemesis was pleased then. 

It didn’t feel good. But Bael will learn. He must.

But does he have to?

_It’s that girl, isn’t it._ Bael feels something bad creep up his spine. _Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to her._

The chill remains. 

_Just keep talking with her like normal, boy._ Cold and bad. _That’s the best way you’ll learn your lesson._

What lesson?

* * *

  
“Oh, Bael…” she said softly as he returns. Hair mat-ted with blood and body the same. “Come here.” 

He hesitates for a moment. Between sitting at his usual place and coming over towards the bars that separate them. 

He walks towards her. 

Her fingers could barely reach his as he reaches through the bars. 

Her fingers are warm, he thinks. Warm and good. 

“What number?”

“Forty.” 

“Good job, Bael.”

* * *

  
“Sixty-five,” he said as she arrives back to her cell. “The number is sixty-five.” 

She collapses next to him. Her smile weak. So very weak. But- but-

It wasn’t pa-the-tic.

* * *

  
“Eighty-seven,” he said. “Number eighty-seven.” 

Her hair was lighter now, he thinks. Lighter than the dirt brown that they were before. But her eyes were still as dark. 

“Good job, Bael,” she said softly. As she coughs into her hand.

* * *

  
He leans over to her cell. Her chains now no longer shackled to the walls but still tying her arms and ankles together. 

“Target eliminated,” he mumbled. Leaning closer to the bars. Feeling her hands trying to brush away the blood. 

“One hundred and ten,” she said. “One hundred and ten.” 

His chest feels lighter with each touch.

* * *

  
“Was it this painful for you, Bael?” she asked. Looking at herself. 

Bael shakes his head. “Never.” 

“Really?” she frowns. “Even at the beginning?”

“I do not remember a beginning.”

“Oh.” 

He does not understand why she looks so pained. 

Day one hundred and fifty.

* * *

  
“You’re right, Bael,” she said. “The pain does fade.” 

Bael smiles.

Number one hundred and seventy.

* * *

  
She is gone today. 

She does not return that night. 

He does not know why his chest hurts. 

_You’ll learn, boy,_ Nemesis said. 

Number one hundred and ninety.

* * *

  
“Two hundred and six,” he said quickly as she stumbles back to the cell. Her body covered with stained bandages and her expression was- was- 

_(Weak, pathetic-)_

“It hurts less, Bael,” she said weakly. 

But not pa-the-tic.

* * *

  
Her hair is lighter than before. And it is obvious now. Even with the dirt covering her. 

“Two hundred and twenty,” he said.

She is crying. 

But he does not know what to say other than that number.

Does not know what to do other than to brush the dirt out of her hair.

* * *

  
“My brother is dead,” she said, her eyes dark and her face thin. “The third to die.” 

“Oh.” 

“He was my twin.”

Bael does not know what that means, does not know what a ‘twin’ is. Does not know why their death would cause her to cry but-

“Oh,” he said as she cries.

Two hundred and thirty.

* * *

  
“Edith!” she cried. Her eyes still shut. 

He does not know why she is crying out in her sleep. 

“Edith!” she cried. As she grabs at her head. “Don’t leave!” 

Two hundred and seventy.

* * *

  
“Edmund was kind, you know,” she spoke one night. New bandages applied to her neck and arms. “Was- was kind, I think. I don’t remember.” 

“Oh.” 

“He was the eldest, you know, the beacon of strength.” She touches her eyes. Red and bad. “I think..”

“Oh.”

“He was Subject Eleven.”

“Oh.” 

Subject Eleven went mad earlier that day, the Doctor had told him. The thing went and killed itself-

“Oh.” 

Three hundred.

* * *

  
“Edith, goddess, did I tell you about her?” she asked. 

You did, just the day before.

“I suppose I never did, huh.” She laughs. “Well, she was a bookish girl. She was my older sister, too and I was very jealous of her and her smarts. Childish, right?” 

“I see.”

Three hundred and twenty.

* * *

  
“Edith, goddess, did I tell you about her?” she asked. 

You did, just the day before.

“I suppose I never did, huh.” She laughs. “Well, she was a rough girl. She was my younger sister and I was very jealous of her and her strength with the sword. Childish, right?” 

“I see.”

Three hundred and twenty-one.

* * *

  
“Hey, I have a younger sister, you know,” she said quietly. “My only youngest sister, in fact.” 

“Ah.” 

“Do you want to hear about her?”

I would always listen to you.

“Well, her name was Edelgard…” 

Three hundred and forty.

* * *

  
“Hey,” she called softly. Weakly. “Do you know a song that I would sing to my younger siblings when they couldn’t sleep?” 

He shakes his head.

“I’m starting to forget things,” she admitted. “But I can never forget that.” 

“Ah.” 

“Do you want me to sing it for you?”

He leans into her fingers as she laughs, softly and weakly. 

It is a good melody. 

A beautiful melody. 

One that was much better than death. 

Three hundred and sixty.

* * *

  
“Hey,” she called softly. “Do you want to know my name?” 

He turns towards her. The her with white hair and one missing eye. 

He nods. 

“My name is Elena von Hresvelg,” she said.

The name echoes inside his mind. 

“My name is Elena von Hresvelg, and it is a pleasure to meet you Bael, no last name,” she said, bowing her head slightly. 

He nods clumsily. 

“Can you say Elena, just once?” 

“Elena.” 

She laughs. 

It is a beautiful thing. 

Three hundred sixty-two.

* * *

  
“Hey,” she said softly. Weakly. “I have a small request.”

He looks at her. The her who was lying in the dirt. With bandages around her neck and limbs. With one lone eye and calm smile. 

“Can you call me big sister?” she asked. “Just once?” 

He nods. Not knowing what big sister was, nor what it meant but-

“Big sister,” he said. 

She laughs. Although there are tears in her eyes. 

Three hundred and sixty-three.

* * *

  
She does not return the next day. 

Three hundred and sixty-four.

* * *

  
“Did you hear?” hushed whispers. 

“What?” 

“Subject Nineteen was successful.” 

He does not know of a Subject Nineteen. 

“What about Subject Fifteen?” 

He perks up. Hearing an odd pounding in his chest as he licks his lips. Chains clanking against each other. 

“Oh, her?”

He leans closer.

“She was a failure.” A sigh. “She went mad and the Doctor had to…” 

Nemesis laughs. 

Something wet drips down his cheeks.

And then-

Pain, pain. 

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts-

Why does it hurt so much?

Bael grabs his chest. 

It hurts-

_It hurts, Bael. Spoken softly. Weakly. _

It hurts-

Nemesis laughs. 

_“This is your lesson, boy,”_ Nemesis said._ “To care for something else. Now, that, that is bad, isn’t it.”_

It hurts-

_“Now, that is despair, isn’t it.”_

He can’t breath-

He-

_ “It’ll only cause you to hurt.”_ Laughter (Laughter, Bael, not laf-ter. she said)._ “It’ll only cause you pain.”_

It hurts- he doesn’t want-

_“You don’t want to be hurt, right?”_

No, no-

_“So learn this lesson, well, boy.”_ Laughter, not laf-ter._ “How lucky that you’re a quick learner, yes?”_

It hurts, it hurts-

_If you don’t want to hurt, listen to me-_

I will, I will- 

Just- 

Just make it stop-

_It hurts, Bael._

_Does it ever get better?_

_it will, boy, it will if you just listen to me from now on, alright?_

Just make it stop hurting-

_Bael-_

Three hundred and sixty-five.

On the first of the guardian moon, Elena von Hresvelg dies.

And Bael's world shatters.

Just make the pain stop-

_Three hundred and sixty five._

Happy birthday, Byleth." Spoken tenderly. Lovingly by a father who was always too rough but always gentle to his daughter and- 

_"Happy birthday, boy."_ Spoken roughly and slyly. By a man long dead whose only fuel is his rage and hatred-

"You've always wanted a pony, right?" 

The girl smiles.

_"You want it to stop hurting, right?"_

The boy nods.

Jeralt smiles. Kind and tender. "Well, here it is-"

Nemesis laughs. Cruel and mocking._ "Well, how can I reject such an earnest request?"_

A gentle pat on the head. As the girl smiles, a bit wider.

A rough touch through his heart. As the boy gasps, a bit louder.

_ "Well?_ How_ is_ it?"

Oh. Byleth thinks as she smiles. The happiest she's ever felt.

Oh. Bael thinks. Feeling nothing at all. Nothing but anger and spite.

_It is good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was definitely super fun to write! i really enjoyed writing Bael and Elena interacting and gosh, it was all so much fun haha. I hoped you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> Please leave a kudo and comment on your thoughts, what you liked, what you didn't, your analysis, just anything, really, to make my day and make Elena happy lol.


	4. advent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or how Bael copes and the fate goes wonky

Bael wakes up to a silent world. As the light of the sun streams through the space between the cracks. 

_Bael-_

He sees a girl with white hair and one lone eye. 

She smiles at him. 

_Good morn-_

He blinks and she is gone. Leaving him with open lips and readied tongue, wanting to speak something, to say something. The words already on the tip of it and yet- yet-

That, too, had gone with the girl. So gone were the tears and weight inside his chest. For Nemesis had dug deep and rescued Bael from the pain. For Bael cannot feel anything now but- 

But- 

The three hundred and sixty-three marks are all that remains in the space between him and her.

* * *

  
Bael returns to his cell. Arm aching and feet slightly bruised. 

He does not know why he leans against the bars to the other cell. Does not know why he waits with bated breath. 

Does not know what he is waiting for. 

_Does it hurt?_

A gentle breeze. 

He glances up. 

But there is no one there. 

Just- 

Just who was he expecting?

* * *

  
He hears a choked out sound. Almost like a sob, a familiar sound. 

He turns his head. 

A girl with white hair and one lone eye smiles back. 

He lifts his hand as she fades once more. 

_It hurts, Bael-_

He closes his eyes, wondering why he can feel wetness in his palm. 

There is nothing that exists between them now, nothing except for-

* * *

  
“They could’ve lived,” Bael said, repeating Nemesis’ word and intonation. “If you’d just have chosen.” 

The boy cries. Looking up at him with tears running down his cheeks and snot mixed in with them. 

Pathetic. 

“They were my family, h- how can I choose-”

“One could’ve lived,” Bael repeated. Bringing down his blade. 

That, was a lie. 

But the boy had believed, believed it until his dying breathes and beyond. 

_Good boy._

* * *

  
He returns to his cell. Blood on his hands and hair. 

As he leans against the bars that separate them, he says: 

“It’s not mine.” 

No one replies. 

Bael looks up. 

Ah, he thinks briefly. Finding a weight in his chest. 

The three hundred and sixty-three marks are all that remains now. 

For there is nothing that exists between them now, nothing except for-

* * *

  
A brief melody passes through his ears as the moon shines from above. 

_I sang it-_

“Loud,” he said, hoping to drown out the song. “It’s loud.” 

_\- when they couldn’t sleep-_

“Stop.”

_\- want to hear it, Bael?_

He clasped his hands around his ears. 

He couldn’t fathom why this once brought him peace. Couldn’t fathom how he could’ve fallen asleep to such a- a terrible song. 

Bael bites his lip, wanting to drown out the noise with his own pain. 

There is no comfort in those words now. Just like how there is nothing that exists between him and her. Nothing except- 

“Stop.” 

Nemesis, he begs. Make it stop- 

_Very well, boy._

Screams echoed inside his ears. Screams and cries, sobs and shouts. All asking him: why? Why did you kill- 

They were beautiful sounds. For anything is beautiful compared to- to-

Just like her that wretched melody will disappear. For nothing will remain of them, nothing except-

* * *

  
_What number?_

A girl laughs. Brown hair and two bright eyes. 

He cannot recall the color of her eyes. 

He doesn’t want to. 

_Fifteen, do you know what number that is?_

Fade away. Just like that. Stop coming-

Fade away, like how you- 

_Bael-_

Fade away, for nothing remains of us now. Nothing except-

* * *

  
_Bael-_

Just go-

* * *

  
_It hurts-_

Leave, like before, just leave-

* * *

  
_\- call me-_

Disappear- just go- don’t come back-

* * *

  
_\- number?_

Why are you still here?

* * *

  
“Move me,” Bael said.

The Doctor quirks an eyebrow. 

“Give me a new cell.”

“Why?” 

“It’s loud,” Bael answered.

The Doctor frowns, but he nods all the same.

* * *

  
_So you’re leaving me?_

Bael glances back. A girl with white hair and one lone eye stares back. 

He turns away from her. From her and the lullabies that she once sang. From her and the three hundred and sixty-three marks that lined the walls. 

He turns, never looking back. 

Just- 

Just like she did that day. 

You left first, so don't blame me-

* * *

  
The days pass after that. Bael doesn’t know how much, for he does not count them. 

There are no use in counting, that, that is what Bael has learned. 

Bael does not count with numbers. He does not care for the days that pass by. He cares not for the girl who once taught him, for he cannot remember how she looks like anymore. 

_Bael-_

Bael counts the number of people he’s killed instead. Counts the villages he’d razed and the number of ‘fathers’ and ‘mothers’ and ‘sons’ and ‘daughters’ he’d killed. 

He counts with the rising body count, for those are the things that matters in the end.

_“Good boy.”_

* * *

  
“You killed Kronya,” the Doctor said, his voice cold and uncaring. 

Bael nods. 

“May I ask why?” Practiced hands glow bright as his wounds are healed. Leaving his arms scarred, but no longer injured. 

“She said something she shouldn’t,” was all Bael said in reply, before closing his eyes once more. 

“She had an important mission,” the Doctor said, humming. 

“Replace her,” Bael said easily, sliding back his shirt and armor. “She’s weak.” 

“Replace her, you say,” the Doctor repeated. Hand placed under his chin. “You say that so simply, as though…” 

Bael returns his dagger and blade to his side. 

“... you really are my lucky star,” the Doctor said smiling. “Well, off you go now.”

Bael did not like the way the Doctor was looking now. Inspired and galvanized. Just like he did when Bael was barely reaching the Doctor’s hips. For Bael can never forget the expression of the Doctor as needle pierces through his skin, never forget the way the Doctor watches with cold eyes and scribbles down words as Bael screams. 

I could kill you now, Bael thinks, hand hovering over his dagger. Make you scream in pain as you plead me to stop. 

I could do it now, and nothing would happen to me. 

I could do it now, and it would be good. 

I could, I could- 

But- 

_“He has use, boy.”_

“Do what you will.”

* * *

  
“This is Subject Ten,” the Doctor introduced. “He will be replacing Kronya.”

The other figure in the room turns their head to look at him. Heavy armor encompassing their whole figure, making it impossible to make out any of their features. 

“This is him?” the figure asked, voice also heavily modified. “The man who killed Kronya?” 

“It is him.” The Doctor places his hand on Bael’s shoulder. 

“The man who ruined our plans?” Bael can not see the figure’s expression, but he knows it to be a bad one. “Without nary a reason?”

Bael did have a reason to kill that wench. But it matters not now, not to them and not to him. 

The Doctor scoffs. “Does it matter?” 

“... No, no I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” the figure spoke, sighing. They were angry, Bael knows that much. Even if they tried to hide their appearance he can feel their anger clear as day. 

“Bael is the better candidate, regardless,” the Doctor continued. “I rather think that he should’ve been the original candidate for this mission.” 

“Why?” Bael cannot see the figure’s eyes, but they feel familiar. Somehow. 

He does not know how. 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” the Doctor said loftily, removing his hand from Bael’s shoulder. “But what matters now is that the change has been approved.” 

“Very well,” the figured agreed after a brief moment. Obviously still frustrated, but their dissent did not matter. For the Doctor didn’t appear to care either way for their opinion. 

“What mission?” Bael asked, frowning slightly at the surprise. 

“It’ll be an infiltration mission. I know, different from your usual assignments,” the Doctor answered as he smiles at Bael. “But I know that you can handle it.” 

“It is not just an infiltration mission,” the figure spoke grimly. 

The Doctor shrugs casually. “It matters not what I call it. All that matters is that he understands.” And turning his attention to Bael just as quickly he continues, “That, over there, is your tasker for his mission. The Flame Emperor.” 

The Flame Emperor. 

_Ha, a mighty strong name for someone with so little influence._

* * *

  
It was another meeting between him, the Doctor and the person who calls themselves the Flame Emperor. 

The Doctor had debriefed him moments after the previous meeting. Mentioning that he would be infiltration an academy and his role would be as a student. Nothing more was said after that and Bael didn’t inquire any further. 

“... I was unable to find a suitable candidate for you to replace,” the figure spoke. “Kronya was planned years in advance and unfortunately doing the same thing now under such a short amount of time would be suspicious.” 

“Couldn’t you pull one of your commoner classmates away?” the Doctor asked. Not displeased but not happy either. “They’re easy enough to replace, right?” 

There was a brief spike in tension with the Doctor’s words. As the Flame Emperor’s fingers twitch in agitation. “They are not just things to be used and replaced as you wis-” 

“Bah, commoners are a dime a dozen,” the Doctor said dismissively. “You certainly didn’t mind what you did to that Mona girl earlier.” 

“Her name was Monica,” the Emperor hissed. Hands tensing into fists as he stares the Doctor down. 

“Right, right, Monica,” the Doctor repeated, waving off the armored figure’s anger. “But she was easy enough, right?” 

“I can’t just interact with commoners with my standing,” the Flame Emperor said. “Monica was the perfect candidate with her being the heir of House Ochs and an orphan. Someone I can interact with and not have any family to question her. I can’t just find another noble with the exact set of circumstances-” 

“Then make one,” the Doctor said impatiently. “Just make another student.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me, with your power, it should be easy enough,” the Doctor said, leaning back against the chair. 

“There will be questions-” 

“Monica von Ochs had a brother,” the Doctor began, rowing his hair back as he sighs. “An illegitimate brother, a bastard, whom Baron Ochs had long searched for before his death and to which his daughter, the future baroness, continues to do so. Unfortunately he was found a mere year after her becoming missing, meaning that she and him will never meet.”

The Flame Emperor did not speak, contemplating, perhaps. 

“Her unfortunate brother decides to take up the mantle of House Ochs, with a heavy heart because, as luck would have it, _oh, his whole family is dead,_ the poor thing,” The Doctor smiles, a familiar smug grin. “And being the kind person that you are, you’ll invite him to Garreg Mach, because, oh, you knew of Monica, right? And she would’ve wanted her brother to attend Garreg Mach as well, right?” 

The Doctor smiles once more, adjusting his collar. 

“There are plenty of ways to make a person from the ground up, when you have power and creativity,” the Doctor drawled. “So how about it, _Emperor?_”

“... Very well.” 

The Doctor smiles. All teeth. 

“Now, be a dear and take off your mask, won’t you?” The Doctor gestures towards the figure. “Monica’s brother will need to know his future sponsor and kind house leader, of course.” 

The Flame Emperor hesitates for a brief moment. 

But because, for all the grandiose, they have no power here. In the Doctor’s domain. They bring their hands to the mask. Letting it slide away slowly, as though still hesitating. When it was finally removed- 

Bael sees a ghost. 

_Bael._

A name, old and worn, comes to his lips, almost unbidden, “Elena.” 

The girl’s eyes widen as her white hair shimmer in the dim candlelight. 

“Where did you hear that name?” the girl asked, her face pale and her hands shaking. 

_My siblings-_

A girl sits in front of him now. Long white hair and one lone eye. He can remember her scars so vividly now. Can remember how the bandages wound around her neck and remember how her eyes would shine in the dim light. 

_Did you hear? Subject fifteen went mad-_

“Subject Nineteen,” Bael said through gritted teeth as he stares into two bright eyes. The color of which he had long forgotten. 

_Purple, my eyes are purple, Bael. Just like how yours is-_

The girl says something. Words that Bael cannot hear through the noise that was blocking out his ears. As the girl’s left eye disappears at random. As her left eye switch from a bright _(Purple, my eyes are purple, Bael-)_ to an empty socket. As her hair shines a brilliant white in the dim lit room. As her figure overlap with another as she says:

“What number, Bael?” 

As Bael stares into her eyes. He remembers that there is nothing that exists between him and her now. Nothing except- 

“What number, Bael?”

The girl, the one with two bright eyes and long white hair continues to speak, but he does not hear nor care. 

_Three hundred and sixty-three, Elena._

Subject Nineteen asks, “How do you know her?” 

Subject Fifteen asks once more, “What number, Bael?”

To both, he replies, “I don’t remember.” 

For there is nothing between him and her now. For he had long stopped counting the days when she had left him and never came back. 

Bael rises to stand. Hearing the girl calls after him. As the Doctor waves her off. 

_Bael, can you call me-_

For there is nothing between one Elena von Hresvelg and Bael, no last name. 

_Why did you leave?_

Nothing except for hatred and anger. 

Because- 

Because one Bael, no last name hates one Elena von Hresvelg with all of his being. For this is all that exists between him and her now. For this is all that remained after her departure. 

_“Good boy.”_

I hate you, Elena von Hresvelg-

* * *

  
“You made her very distressed, you know,” the Doctor said to him afterwards. “When you just said her sister’s name like that.” 

Bael shrugs. 

“But whatever, doesn’t matter,” the Doctor continued. “She can’t do a thing to you anyways.”

Bael hums, turning to leave. 

“By the way, today is _that_ day, you know,” the Doctor said. 

Bael falters for a split second before continuing to walk away. 

“Hey, don’t be upset at me, you were the one who told me to remind you.” The Doctor shakes his head before turning around as well.

* * *

  
Bael closes his eyes. Breathing in and out evenly. 

_Bael, what number?_

Of course she is here. Always, each time. Each time she is here with the same question on her lips. And no matter what he does, she will not leave. Because today is a special day. And for today she will not leave until he says:

“Three hundred and sixty-five.” 

I hate you, Elena von Hresvelg. He thinks as the girl shatters into stars once more.

I hate you. 

That, that is all that remains now.

* * *

  
_“If you don’t want it to hurt, listen to me.”_

_Please, please-_

_“It is a simple thing, you see.”_

_Just make it stop-_

_“I'll make you hate her so it won't hurt anymore, see?”_

_Anything- _

_Nemesis reaches inside his heart and-_

_There is nothing left. _

_Nothing except for hate. _

* * *

  
The Doctor looked up at the moon shining above him. Remembering Subject Ten and his odd request from years prior- 

_“Remind me.”_

“Really, I don’t know what’s so special about today.”

The Doctor pauses.

"... there's no way." A dry chuckle. "Him, remembering the date of his birth? What a stupid thought."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a valid reason ws to why kronya's dead, but it'll be delved into at ta later date so I hope you'll enjoy that! Writing this chapter was also super funa nd Edelgard and Bael finally meeting was great, although their relationship will be anything but fluffy haha. As you can see, Bael is not the best at coping lol, so there's that. his coping is basically: if i hate them, they cant hurt me lol. 
> 
> Please leave a kudo and comment on your thoughts, what you liked, what you didn't, your analysis. Just anything, really, to warm my heart! <3


	5. fate restarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bael finally goes to garreg mach and his destiny starts once more, twenty years later.

“Perfect,” the Doctor said; a hand placed on Bael’s shoulder as they stand before the mirror. His own reflection stares back at them both, with dark clothes and gold plating, entirely too restricting and terrible for movement. A sword set by his waist and a dagger tied around his thigh with more hiding beneath his clothes.

“But.” A hand threading through his hair. Bringing it to attention in the dim light of the room. “What shall we do with this?” 

Bael’s eyes flicker to it, voices murmuring in his ears. 

_Bael, Bael, your hair! Laughter. She was laughing, her laughter is nice, he thinks- We match!_

That sentence brought warmth once, before, before. 

Before she left and never looked back. 

Now, all it brings is- 

He cannot breathe, he realizes as he brings a hand to his own hair. Fingers tangling around the long strands, just like she did once. His touch nowhere as gentle as hers and there was no delight to be had from the action. More suffocating and fiery instead as the hair falls in front of him. 

And in the dim light, he finally realizes how alike they were to hers. 

_Good, he said as he stares at her hair. Fingers reaching out to-_

“Cut it,” he rasped. “Cut it off.” Do anything, just take it out of my sight. Just make sure that I will never see it again-

“Very well.” The Doctor brings up a sharp dagger and raises it to Bael’s head. Normally, it would’ve warranted some caution or wariness, but now- now it does nothing but brings relief. 

Cut it, cut it-

Get it out of my sight- 

_It looks good, Elena-_

Get her out of my sight- 

He feels the weight dropping from his head as the Doctor cuts it all away. The long strands dwindle to nothing more than chin length. Letting it all fall in uneven strokes. 

The person who stares back at him is less like _her_ and more like- like- 

He sees a girl in the mirror, one with dark hair and darker eyes. One whose face mirrors his and as he reaches for her she does the same and- 

“Bael?” The girl shatters. Leaving only Bael in the mirror once more. The one with uneven white hair and stifling clothes. “We should probably clean up your hair a bit.” He does not remember whether he nodded or not. But what he does remember is-

_Damn you, Sothis-_

Who? 

Only he remains in the mirror now.

* * *

“Are you ready?” Subject Nineteen asked, her face looking no more joyous it did the previous day. She was dressed differently now, in less armor and more common clothes. A red half cape slung over her shoulder and black jacket and pants. 

“Is this the man, Lady Edelgard?” the man next to her questioned. Looking at him with his lone green eye, eyes that glow a peculiar shade under the right lighting. The girl nods to him, causing the man to take a step forward hand reaching out towards Bael. He waits for a moment, looking for any reaction perhaps. “Well?” 

Bael looks between the man’s hand and his eyes and stays motionless. 

“Are you sure this is the right man?” the man asked, turning to the Doctor. “Does he even understand me?” 

The Doctor coughs, giving an entirely too fake smile. “Take his hand, won’t you, Bael?” 

Bael very much does not want to take the hand of this man. Of this man who looks as though he was trying to pierce through Bael’s skin and see what lurks underneath. With shadows in his bright eyes and a constant sneer. 

But he does. 

“Like a dog,” the man mumbled under this breath.

It is an insult, this Bael knows. For mutts were weak and terrible. And Bael does not like being compared to such; if it were as normal and if the man weren’t pertinent to his mission, the man would be dead by now. 

But Bael has a mission and he will do no less than complete it perfectly.

He does note it, though. For even if he cannot act now there is no saying what happens after the mission is done and over. 

For even the most pathetic of mutts can bite. And Bael was nowhere near pathetic. 

He takes the man’s hand and, in a flash of white, his mission starts.

* * *

“This,” the man said, none too pleased to be anywhere near Bael. “Will be where you stay, understand?” 

Bael nods, looking around at the lavish room. With a bed on the side of the room and a desk and a chair on the other. He notes the lack of an alternate exit, a mighty concerning thing, that. But regardless, no matter. He sets down the bag that he was carrying on the desk, turning to stare back at the man. 

“You understand what your mission is, correct?” the man said, his frown severe and his words harsh. 

Bael nods.

“Aid Lady Edelgard to the best of your abilities, you understand?” the man asked, something savage lurking beneath his words. 

Bael nods, turning away from the man entirely. A silent dismissal. 

He hears the man turning around as well, opening and closing the door harshly behind him, his steps quick and harsh.

He turns to open his bag, taking out several of the same uniform and necessities and setting them aside. He reaches the bottom of the bag, fingers threading the hidden pocket as he tugs and pull out a single note. 

_Remember mission._ The Doctor wrote. His handwriting neat and concise. For even if Bael cannot read much else, he knows these two words by heart. 

He crumbles the paper in his hands, letting it burn to ashes as he let the remnants drop to the ground, crushing it beneath his boots. 

_“You know what your mission is, right?”_

He takes out another dagger. This one curved and its tip laced with the deadliest of poisons. 

_Bael nods._

The edge of the dagger shines in the dimly lit room. And he can see himself reflected in its surface. 

_“Watch that girl well, won’t you?” the Doctor smiles, though it does not reach his eyes. “If she does anything bad…”_

He slides the dagger into the inner lining of his jacket. 

_“Take care of her, alright?”_

Bael will do no less. For- 

_Why did she live?_

He sees a flash of white in the corner of his eyes. 

He does not turn. 

_Why did Nineteen live and not-_

“Subject Fifteen,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. 

Laughter and she fades once more. Leaving him alone just like she did back then. 

He does not know why his chest roars with fire and the dagger seems to burn through to his heart. 

Ah, I hate you so much, Elena von Hresvelg.

* * *

Officially, his mission does not start until the morning of the next day. Where he will be ‘introduced’ or some such to his new classmates, whatever those were. 

Bael takes the rest of the day to wander about his new mission site. During the cover of night, as he does not think his wandering about the massive location will not warrant any suspicion if noted. It is rather easier this way, to let the shadows and night blend his features entirely. Let him become another faceless figure that comes and go, rather than letting Bael von Ochs be a target of wariness on the first day. 

He wanders near what appears to be a fishing dock, as small as the lake were. There was no one in sight, though he was sure that during the day there was plenty. 

Yet- 

A woman stands at the edge of the wooden pier. Her back to him as she stares up at the moon. Her long dark hair falling behind to her waist and her figure covered in a holy light. 

Some odd compulsion pushes him forward. Clumsily, harshly, pulling him towards her. Taking out all the silence and grace of his normal steps. 

She turns, then, coming face to face with him. Eyes wide and mouth opening slightly. 

_Sothis-_ Nemesis roared. _Sothis-_

“Who?” he asked. Feeling breathless and full of air all at once. His throat parched as though he’d swallowed the harshest of sands and his chest burning as though he’d consumed the fieriest of hearth. 

_I know you, I know you, I know you-_ Something inside him chants, not Nemesis- 

“Who are you?” she asked back. Gaze questioning and her hand reaching towards her own dagger. She was frowning and for some reason that hurts him. 

Why? 

Who- 

They stand like so, him withdrawing an outreached hand that he didn’t even know of as he reaches for his own blade. Both bathed in the unrelenting light of the moon as they stare at each other. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

I know you- something inside him shouts. 

Bael blinks as she blinks back. Neither moving an inch as they take the other in. 

She is familiar, he notes. And the thought causes his chest to constrict once more as he struggles to breathe. 

How?

“Who are you,” she demanded. Her gaze familiar and her words rough. 

He wishes to say Bael, Bael, no last name, that’s who I am-

But-

“Bael von Ochs,” he said instead. Feeling as though he’d been wounded for reasons unknown as he says the name. 

“Student?” she asked. Figures releasing some tension, but still ready to strike back at a moment’s notice. 

His throat is dry, too dry, he thinks. And he does not know why. 

“Yes.” Dry, dry, how was he even speaking? “Black Eagles.” 

“I didn’t see you earlier,” she noted. Eyes still firm and hands still breaths away from her own weapon. 

“New,” he answered. Heart inside his throat and flame burning at the pit of his abdomen. “Will be intro-due-eced tomorrow.”

Her hands drop then. Her face relaxing somewhat as the slight frown clears up. Returning her to perfect blankness once more as she stares back at him. “Very well.” She turns to leave then. Heels tapping gently on the wood as she walks away from the lake. Her eyes complicated as she stares at him, still. As though she was searching for something and he knows he is doing the same. 

“Who.” Tell me, tell me who you are- 

She pauses for a moment. Eyes flitting away for a brief second before turning back. She opens her lips and- 

Her name burns itself into his heart. 

Oh, he thinks. As his chest burns hotter still and his eyes burn even more, as though burnt by the sun itself. He does not know when it is that his hands come to grasp at his chest. Unbeating and still, but still constricting oddly. 

He does not know when is it that she left, but he cannot feel much else over the heat of his heart and the roar of something unknown. 

Why, why- he wondered, desperately, as the heat brings him to his knees. Leaving him grasping at his chest and his eyes burning with heat. 

Why- 

_She is Sothis-_

Why- he wonders. Why- 

Why does it feel like- like-

_She is Sothis, you must know what this mean-_

Why does it feel like I’ve known her for my entire life? 

_Because you have, boy._

A hand around his heart. 

_She is Sothis, boy. Her name is Sothis-_

Her name is- is- his mind chants desperately, as though- as though he was grasping for- for-

For what? 

_You knows what this means, boy._

I don’t- I don’t-

Why do I feel- 

What is this- 

_That right there is hatred, boy._

A hand around his heart. 

_That, right there, is your- _our_ combined hatred, boy._

Nemesis grabs through his heart and- 

No- no- don’t take her away from me- 

Not again-

_This is how it should be, boy._

Nemesis yanks and- 

There is nothing left. 

Nothing aside from hatred once more. As it burns, like poison, through his heart and the nagging voice inside his head. 

As it should be, he thinks. Returning to himself once more.

Yet- 

It feels as though a piece of himself had been ripped away. 

He does not know why. 

_You understand what must be done, yes?_

Bael nods. 

_Good boy._

Something wet slides down his cheeks. 

He does not know why either. 

_It is fate, boy._

On an unremarkable night of the Great Tree Moon, one Byleth Eisner meets one Bael, no last name for the first time in near two decades. 

Their fate restarts once more. 

The poisoned dagger burns through to his heart.

_For she is Sothis, and you were born to kill her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elena: wow our hair match-  
bael, while crying: fuck that shit.
> 
> byleth: new student to recruit, coolios.  
bael: how the fuck do i assassinate a teacher. 
> 
> nemesis: you were born to kill her.  
bael, while crying even harder: aight
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. Bael and Byleth finally meeting haha. that was definitely fun to write! And there will definitely be more interactions between him and her from now on. as well as a certain dad and prince haha. 
> 
> Please leave a kudo and a comment on your thoughts, what you enjoyed, what you didn't, your analysis, your ramblings, just anything, really, to make my day! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all will enjoy this fic! I'll certainly enjoy writing it! There'll be eventual family bonding between Jeralt and the twins, but that's a long way off from now. 
> 
> Please leave a kudo and a comment on your thoughts, what you liked, what you didn't like, your analysis, your thoughts, just anything, really, to make me super happy and motivated!


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